Firebug
No historic chattels, old photos or memorabilia.
Nothing has historic value for us to remember.
The sheds are old and rusted on our farm just out of town;
our house is not long new since the old one was burnt down.
I often think about our lead up by putting up a trouble sign,
when we as kids so full of hype one day had crossed the line,
when the four of us all boys whose age’s fell from twelve to six,
went on a rampage of disaster and left a trail for dad to fix.
My oldest brother he was wicked. He had a scheming mind
that got us younger ones in trouble from what he left behind.
He'd set up a situation where, that made ‘bells’ surely ring.
He was never ever caught so it’s us who felt the sting.
However - somewhere down the line, the cunning can get careless,
and us junior followers can be the victims now ‘God Bless’.
For it was in our fathers shed he found matches laying 'round,
and made things out of paper; then burnt them to the ground.
At one stage down the paddock where the grass was thick and dry,
he just lit one match and the flames were crackling to the sky.
We laughed and got excited watching, the earth turn black as night,
then he went off looking for something else that he could light.
There it was laying there; the family cat out in the sun.
And it became our brother’s target when it didn’t up and run.
We watched him as he held the cat and gave it a petrol douse!
But after he had lit it - the cat ran underneath our house.
Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2019
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